


Aquamarine

by carriecmoney



Series: Totally F**ked [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, Running From The Gay Thoughts, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-09
Updated: 2016-07-09
Packaged: 2018-07-22 10:47:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7433677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carriecmoney/pseuds/carriecmoney
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“So mean!” This time Oikawa falls on him on purpose, strangling him around the neck to fake-sob into his shoulder. “What did I ever do to deserve such a brute for a best friend?”<br/>“Something terrible in a past life.” Hajime sighs. “I guess we both did.”</p><p>Iwaoi companion to "Lemonade".</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> {A/N: Oops. I made a series. Oikawa's half will be posted in the next 24 hours because I'm Terrible. [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/carriecmoney) [tumblr](http://carriecmoney.tumblr.com)}

Hajime is so fucked.

It’s lunchtime, and it’s a nice day for once, a rare warmer afternoon in a string of January blusters. It’s not nice enough for most of the students, but Hajime and Oikawa have always been hardier than most, so they kick some old dirty snow out from under their leafless tree at lunch to assume their position. They inhale their food, then Oikawa burrows into Hajime’s thigh, curling up on his scarf-pillow, and closes his eyes for a powernap while Hajime opens a textbook to prepare for his next class. It’s an old routine, as tried as middle school pranks and serve practice, but the lingering chill means Oikawa shivers with a heavy gust of wind. Hajime lifts his textbook to raise an eyebrow at him. Oikawa cracks an eye and grins. “It’s a little chilly,” he whines, then wiggles around so he can drape an arm over Hajime’s knees, tucking his hands under Hajime’s thighs, fingers wriggling. He hugs Hajime’s legs tighter so they cinch together, nuzzling post the loose bundle of his scarf to his pants, nose brushing a rip-

Hajime bangs the textbook down on Oikawa’s head. Oikawa wails and hides his face in the dip between his legs which is _not any better_. Hajime heaves him off, dumping him to the side along with his scarf and his dignity.

“I’m not your weird body pillow,” he growls. Oikawa flips around to his hands and knees to pout and flick Hajime in the forehead. Hajime grabs the flicking wrist, thumb digging into the flesh of the inside of his forearm, lip curling. Oikawa’s tentative balance fails him and he tips into Hajime, a dogpile of elbows and sharp chins and bitching. Hajime winces, grabbing Oikawa by the shoulder to hold him back at arm’s length, ears burning under his hat. “You’re pathetic.”

“So _mean!_ ” This time Oikawa falls on him on purpose, strangling him around the neck to fake-sob into his shoulder. “What did I ever do to deserve such a brute for a best friend?”

“Something terrible in a past life.” Hajime sighs. “I guess we both did.” There are too many layers between them for Oikawa to feel his heart pounding, but he still unwinds Oikawa from him and pushes him away, gentler than before. “One day you’re actually going to get yourself in trouble for being a clingy-ass motherfucker,” he says. Oikawa laughs, picking up Hajime’s discarded textbook and straightening out the pages crumpled by the dead grass before giving it back, a leaf as a bookmark.

“Maybe,” he concedes, “but not with you.” Hajime bites his tongue on that, but Oikawa doesn’t try to lie in his lap again, but curls up against his side, cheek on Hajime’s shoulder. He sighs and lets it happen.

“Hey, hanger-kun!” Matsukawa yells from the courtyard door. “Wanna throw Hanamaki a party tonight?”

Oikawa’s eyes pop open. Hajime sighs again.

* * *

Honestly, Hajime doesn’t mind Oikawa’s parties. No one ever goes too wild, and the one time they made a second year pay them back when he spilled beer on a speaker has made everyone wary of leaking liquids. House rules are well known and strictly enforced by all their yearmates - no one wants to lose their one reliable hosting space. That doesn’t stop Hajime from keeping an eye out for new, untrained faes, but tonight seems fine. He relaxes enough to notice Hanamaki sulking against the hallway bookshelf, pouting into his beer and in general doing a wonderful Oikawa kicked-puppy impression. He bites back a smile and grabs two beers to join him for a moment. They acknowledge each other with nods and a shuffle to give Hajime a good leaning space. They exist in mutual silence, observing the organized chaos, before Hanamaki leans in and yells over the thumping music, “Isn’t this a little much?”

Hajime shrugs. “It’s not so bad if you let yourself get used to it.” He slaps the top off one of the beers with the bookshelf as leverage, handing it off to Hanamaki before repeating it for himself. “It’s just a party, Hanamaki.”

“I _know_ that.” Hajime snorts at Hanamaki’s hunched shoulders and closed-off body language. He sneers. “Shut up.”

“Didn’t say anything.” Hajime slaps his arm (Hanamaki winces) and pushes off the wall. “Go mingle or something, you look like your cat died last night.” He can feel Hanamaki mocking him behind his back as he leaves his ass and raises an eyebrow at his contorted sneer before ducking into the kitchen.

Oikawa is entertaining like he is wont to do, sitting on the counter by the punch cooler with his legs swinging while he directs a conversation with three threads from his vantage point on high. Hajime sighs and works through the standing room crowd to his knee, stealing the half-full cup at Oikawa’s side to sip at it. Oikawa hones in on him and smiles, hand sliding around the bared back of Hajime’s neck to drape over his opposite shoulder. Hajime shivers.

“Iwa-chan! How nice of you to join us!” He shakes Hajime by the shoulder as he beams at his audience. “Told you he couldn’t spend five minutes without me!” They laugh as Hajime’s face burns.

“That’s because you would die if I wasn’t around,” he growls, a poke to Oikawa’s gut as punctuation.

Oikawa groans and curls in, wheezing more than necessary, grip on Hajime’s shoulder pulling him in to strangle him. “Mean!” he cries into Hajime’s ear. The audience laughs harder.

“You two are always such a riot together,” a girl squeezes out between giggles. “I love it.”

Oikawa leans down so he can smush his cheek to Hajime’s. “That’s because we look _cute_ together.” Hajime slips a hand to Oikawa’s face, shoving him away hard enough that he falls into the cabinets. Oikawa whines, but keeps clinging to Hajime’s collar, every point of skin on skin a tiny flame in Hajime’s head. He needs to get away so he’s not burned.

Oikawa sits himself back up and wraps a leg around Hajime’s dangling arm, and he can’t bring himself to break away. “Fight it all you want, Iwa-chan, but we’re _destiny_.” Hajime glances up to Oikawa’s shining eyes, still clear and lucid - he’s probably barely finished a cup of his punch. They crinkle at the corners, and Hajime looks away and finishes Oikawa’s drink.

“Neither can live while the other survives,” he mumbles, but the girl and two others catch it and cackle.

Oikawa pouts even as he twists baby hairs at the nape of Hajime’s neck around two fingers. “Well _obviously_ I’m the Harry Potter here because _you_ ” (he pokes Hajime’s cheek) “are a lord of darkness.”

“Oikawa-san, you know you’re a Slytherin, right?” one of their old classmates says with a grin. Oikawa gasps.

“ _Excuse_ you! Like hell I am!” They start arguing about Hogwarts houses as Hajime refills Oikawa’s cup. They share it without discussion, Hajime’s arm wound around Oikawa’s calf, Oikawa’s hand still scratching Hajime’s scalp. The punch is strong, washing over Hajime in a fuzz, static shock when Oikawa’s leg shifts or their fingers brush on a cup exchange. He should be used to this, since Oikawa’s touch has sang his body electric since puberty, but it changes angle without prediction, never letting him sit still for more than a week. It’s getting really fucking old, but he can’t seen to draw away when every nerve in his brain is screaming at him that it’s the logical thing. Sometimes it just wants him to watch Oikawa’s nose scrunch when someone asks if he’s a Gryffindor, and his hair flop when he bites back that he’s not that dumb, no sir. Hajime huffs and traces along the top of Oikawa’s sock, not missing the shudder and goosebumps it raises under his palm even as Oikawa keeps his eyes fixed forward.

A tall girl from the softball team stumbles in the door from the living room, bracing herself on the door frame, face flushed and eyes alight. “Hey! Matsukawa and Hanamaki are _kissing!_ ”

Oikawa and Hajime freeze against each other, Oikawa’s nails digging into Hajime’s neck. Some people run to see for themselves, some mutter, but most cheer and raise a glass. Hajime swallows, the lightning rod of Oikawa highlighted against his side.

“I guess we should make sure they’re okay,” Hajime says, but doesn’t move. Oikawa nods, but does the same. Hajime coughs, grip tightening around Oikawa’s ankle. “Guess it took ‘em long enough, huh?”

“Eh?” Oikawa blinks down at him, eyes wide in shock instead of his usual faked innocence. “Oh, yeah, I guess.” He forces a smile. “Sorry, just thinking about all the bets I lost on that one.” He stretches and hops off the counter, wobbling a bit on the landing so Hajime grabs his elbow, keeping their connection from severing. Oikawa thanks him with a nod. “Thought for sure Makki’s sexual repression would hold out over his extreme thirst.”

Hajime snorts. “You’re forgetting about Matsukawa’s own extreme thirst and repression.” Oikawa laughs, head thrown back, and Hajime is _almost_ drunk enough to reach out and trace fingers down his throat. Almost. “Let’s go beat back the onlookers so they can have their moment,” he says instead.

Oikawa grins and slings an arm around Hajime’s neck, leading them to the sources of the catcalls. “Aw, my little gruff Iwa-chan is a romantic!” Hajime grunts, but doesn’t push away from his own personal power grid.

Maybe he is.


	2. Topaz

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> {A/N: Sometimes you just need a mindless exhale of emotions to get you through a day. No I haven't line edited this before posting. [art for "Rosehip"](http://carriecmoney.tumblr.com/post/146911561426)  
> Please talk to me on [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/carriecmoney) I love talking to people on twitter}

Tooru is so fucked.

It’s a mall trip after Saturday class, and the resident honeymooning lovebirds have fucked off to do what new boyfriends do, although that excuse is running a little thin. Two months is an awful long stretch of the ‘honeymoon’ definition. Tooru is starting to worry that this heart-eyes existence just might be how Makki and Mattsun live for the rest of time.

Iwaizumi falls down next to him on the mall bench, holding out a pretzel from the stall down the aisle. He’s got his own hanging out of his mouth, and Tooru should _not_ be jealous of food but here he is, wanting to be the sea salt on his face. He reaches out with both hands, one to take his pretzel and the other to brush some off his nose. Hajime blinks at him, cheeks full. Tooru grins. “You’re a little chipmunk sometimes, huh?”

Iwaizumi swallows and coughs. “ _Excuse_ me?”

Tooru pinches his cheek fluff and wags it as Iwaizumi struggles. “You’re tiny and cute and always got your mouth full!” He slaps both hands to Iwaizumi’s face, squishing his features together even as Iwaizumi snarls and fights. He’s not the only one with arm strength in this town. Tooru laughs, letting him go and sliding down the bench to avoid his revenge. Iwaizumi wasn’t one to back down from a challenge, though, and slides down after him, crowding him between his solid thigh and the bench arm. Tooru leans away, giggling, as he struggles to keep his pretzel balanced in his lap while also keeping Iwaizumi at arm’s length. He grabs Iwaizumi’s wrists as they bat around his head, holding them to the side. Both of them are almost helpless with laughter by now, shaking against each other, but Iwaizumi tries with his last available weapon and licks up Tooru’s cheek, a wet slobber that is the opposite of sexy – yet. Tooru shivers and yells out, “Gross, Iwa-chan!” to hide the heatwaves passing through him. Iwaizumi smirks and sits back, forearms falling from Tooru’s grip as he moves back to a respectable distance to tear off another chunk of pretzel and stick it in his mouth. “Serves you righ’,” he says with his mouth full. “Call me’n animal an’ I’ll trea’ you ‘ike one.”

“What, put a leash on me and tell me to stay?” Iwaizumi blinks, staring into space in front of them. Sits back, sliding down to stretch his legs in front of them, chewing idly. Tooru’s ears burn as he stuffs his stupid face shut.

“I would pay good money to see you take obedience training.” Tooru chokes. Iwaizumi slaps his back hard enough to dislodge a poisoned apple. “ _Chew_ your food, Shittykawa.”

Tooru coughs a few more times, eyes watering. “The _worst_ ,” he wheezes. Iwaizumi rubs his back and grins, eyes squinting shut, and Tooru is breathless for a new reason. “You doing anything tonight?” he asks, and Iwaizumi raises an eyebrow at him.

“We’re hosting a party, dumbass, or did you manage to forget already?”

Tooru giggles, nerves sparking all over him. “Oh, yeah, duh.” Iwaizumi smiles and flicks his forehead. Tooru hisses and rubs the spot as Iwaizumi laughs at his pain.

“Oi! You two gonna flirt all day or you gonna come with us?”

Iwaizumi looks past Tooru’s shoulder and pulls a face, temples and ears flushing. “Takes one to know one!” He stands, clapping crumbs off his hands, them marches over to an approaching Makki and Mattsun to kick Makki in the shin. His target spins away, shopping bag flapping as he sticks out his tongue, dancing out of Iwaizumi’s reach. Mattsun stands back, hands in his pockets, and watches with a smile tucked into his eyes.

Tooru pulls his knees to his chest and chomps on the last of his pretzel, glaring at every flash of skin between Iwaizumi’s shirt and waistband.

* * *

Tooru feels like he’s dealt with being in love with his best friend with astounding grace and valor. But everyone has weak days, and as graduation inches closer and the finish line bumps over the horizon, Tooru is having more than his share of them. At least alcohol exists to let him lose focus and drift – not necessarily not thinking about Iwaizumi, but able to think about other things, too.

He doesn’t usually sneak more than tastes of his trademarked party punch before his guests arrive, but he needs it tonight. He downs two glasses while his friends hide the breakables and block off the stairs, the rhythm of it as familiar as serve practice, even with Makki’s new clothes that Mattsun can’t keep his paws off of. He hides in the kitchen as they wander in and out, not ignoring him but giving him space to mope. Iwaizumi puts a bowl of chips in front of him at some point; Tooru looks up to a furrow between his eyebrows. His mouth twitches as he takes a few. Iwaizumi’s eyes soften, and Tooru his glad he moves on with a back pat so he doesn’t see how Tooru melts over him.

He disappears into the bowl and his punch for a while, and when he comes back out, the party’s started. He blinks, reorienting himself to this world with people in his house. One of his classmates across the counter waves; he waves back, looking around for friendly faces in the swirling light of the kitchen. They’re known faces, but not the faces he _needs_. He hops off the stool, leaving his empty cup behind to weave around, bumping into a few people who stop and greet him. He bluffs his way through small talk, not remembering one conversation by the time the next starts, until he finds his couch and a brooding Mattsun manspreading across half of it. Tooru crawls up next to him, hugging his furnace torso to him even as his sharp collarbones cut into his cheek. “You’re so nice and warm, Mattsun.” Mattsun laughs, an earthquake under Tooru.

“And you’re so nice and drunk.” Matt worms his long fingers into Tooru’s hair, petting him like he needs. Tooru hums into it, adjusting with Mattsun’s shifting automatically in his drowsy drunk state. The rumbles in Mattsun’s chest change tone from pleasant purrs to low growls, like a dog whose yard is stepped on. Tooru cracks an eye and peeks – one of their pretty yearmates is talking to Makki across the room, feeling the sleeve of his new shrit in a way that green eyes could filter into being flirty. He closes his eye again and nuzzles closer. “Stop growling,” he says, “you’re gonna mess up my aura.” The rumbling ceases. “If you’re that jealous, just go over and claim that ass.”

Air puffs down Tooru’s face. “But he’s having a good time now that he knows he’s hot. I can’t spoil that.”

Tooru frowns and lifts his head to rest his chin on Mattsun’s shoulder, glaring at his profile. “Mattsun, my man, the only thing you could do to spoil his night or day or life is say you wanna break up.” His pillows jumps under him like a dream cliff. “Since we all know _that_ ain’t happening, go ahead and have sex with that. Live your dream.” Tooru inhales a noseful of Mattsun’s special-occasion cologne. “You do have good taste…” He licks the nice smell. Mattsun wriggles away, laughing as he wipes his cheek, but that was a _good_ taste, almost like pretzel salt. He follows, trying to get more –

His world spins, and he’s dumped on his own carpet, pouting up at an amused Mattsun. “Oh, go find Hajime-kun and lick him, I’m sure he’ll like _that_ ,” Mattsun says around the mouth of his beer bottle. Genius. Tooru fights to his feet, dancing to the EDM towards Iwaizumi’s favorite hallway haunt during these parties while Mattsun laughs at him.

But he’s not there.

Tooru frowns at the floorboards where Iwaizumi stands eighty percent of the time, but they remain bare. Iwa-chan didn’t… _abandon_ him, did he? That went against everything Iwaizumi Hajime _stood_ for. Tooru blinks, trying to clear the punch mist in his brain, and wanders on, stumbling through his own house like he’s a pioneer and this is an undiscovered civilization.

He’s not in the dining room. He’s not in the study. He’s not in the group cooling off on the back patio. He’s not in the linen closet. Tooru sniffs, his circuit complete back in the kitchen – the only lit room in the house –and stumbles into a caramel-pan body.

“Whoa there, Oikawa. Don’t run me over.”

Tooru wipes his leaking face – Iwaizumi is there, holding his elbows, smiling through his concerned eyes. Tooru’s lip wobbles; he falls onto Iwaizumi, clutching him close, sobbing into his shoulder. “You _left_ me! Where did you go? I _missed_ you!”

“Whoa, whoa. I’m right here, I haven’t left you, I’ve been here the whole time.” That just makes Tooru wail harder – he’s so _dependable_ , it’s nauseating – and Iwaizumi sighs, patting his back. “Sorry, I gotta take care of this,” he says to someone else, hands rubbing big ovals down Tooru’s spine. Someone laughs, but Tooru doesn’t _care_ , only cares that Iwaizumi is bubbling against him like melting sugar and never letting go.

It takes Iwaizumi a minute, but he half-drags, half-carries Tooru around the house, voices fluttering over Tooru like butterfly wings, too quick to catch. They go up some stairs, the noise receding, until a door slides open and closed and it’s gone. Tooru is sat down on something cold and hard, hands extracted from their death grip around Iwaizumi, massaged by callouses. He rubs his face on his shoulder and blinks in the white light – ah. His bathroom. Iwaizumi kneels before him, thumbs pressed to Tooru’s palms, tile swirling in Tooru’s fuzzy vision but his calm intensity raptor-clear. “Did something happen?” he asks, voice a scratch.

Tooru struggles, voice clogged in his throat. Iwaizumi waits until he chokes out, “Just – couldn’t _find_ you. Wanted you.”

“Ah.” Tooru’s scattered focus hones in on the way Iwaizumi’s pupils dilate. “Well, here I am. What did you want?”

“Nothing. Didn’t…” Iwaizumi is still rolling his thumbs into his palms, making his fingers dance over Iwaizumi’s wrists. It’s turning Tooru to butter, left out on the counter and forgotten, and Iwaizumi doesn’t even seem to _care_.

Iwaizumi’s hands stop moving, and he makes to stand. Tooru cries out and grabs his fingers. Iwaizumi pauses. “Yeah?”

“Don’t…” He swallows. Iwaizumi tilts his head, then chuckles.

“I’m not going anymore, Tooru. Just pouring us some water, since we both need it.” Tooru pouts and squeezes harder. Iwaizumi sighs. Since both his hands are caught, he uses his last available weapon to try and pry them apart, taking one of Tooru’s knuckles in his teeth – freezes when Tooru lets out a whimper. Circle eyes lock over interlaced fingers, Tooru washed cold, heart stopped.

Tooru breathes. “Oh.”

Iwaizumi lowers their hands, but not before closing his jaw in a harder bite that ups the game from leverage to intent, hard stare inscrutable. He clears his throat. “If you want to play this off as the alcohol,” he mumbles, “I’ll roll with it.”

Cracks form in the campfire wood that are Tooru’s ribs. “What?”

Iwaizumi swallows, but doesn’t look away. “You’re my best friend, Tooru,” he says, not moving, barely blinking, hands still white-knuckled together on Tooru’s knees. “You’re- you’re the most important thing in my life.” It hits Tooru now – maybe Iwaizumi is just as unsober as he is. He’s never this vocal about himself when he’s normal. “I _never_ want to do anything to damage that, so if this…” He looks down at their joined hands, runs his thumbs over Tooru’s knuckles like a sunbeam breaking through the clouds. “If this is too much for you.” He swallows. “We can pretend to forget about. This. Blame it on the punch.” He tries to smile. “It’s done worse things to us.”

Tooru can’t even laugh at his joke, too paralyzed by everything leading up to it for humor to register, building up to a thought on the tip of his tongue. Iwaizumi waits, statuesque.

The thought blooms, petals bursting through the drunk undergrowth to tell Tooru their color. “Holy _shit_.” Iwaizumi blinks. “I _love_ you.”

Iwaizumi rears back, shoulders hunching up, dark face flushing. “Uh- that’s, uh, well-”

Tooru tries to hush him with a finger and ends up punching Iwaizumi in the mouth with his own fist. Iwaizumi staggers back, but Tooru refuses to let go, keeping him upright on his knees as he watches the flowers bloom in his head. He nods. “Yep, that’s _definitely_ what I’m feeling right now.”

“Oikawa!” Iwaizumi shakes their joined hands. “That’s not how you’re supposed to do this!”

Tooru shrugs and locks his ankles behind Iwaizumi’s back, yanking him in. “’And Mattsun and Makki-chan weren’t supposed to figure out their shit before we did. World doesn’t work the way it’s _supposed to_ , Iwa-chan.” He bends down to try to kiss the mouth he’s been savoring for years, but it jerks away at the last moment.

“We should- we should talk about this, first? Maybe?” Iwaizumi clears his throat on the crack in his voice, and it’s enough to make Tooru smirk.

“Kiss drunk,” he whispers, dragging his cheek over Iwaizumi’s, scratchy with five o’clock shadow, “talk sober.” Iwaziumi snorts, laughs, unlacing their fingers so he can cup Tooru’s face when they meet.

Tooru lets him.


End file.
